He blamed it on the fact that he’d never spent much time on Earth and with mortals. He never had much direct contact with them but knew from what he had been taught, that mortals were beings that needed help and often times didn’t ask for it. Pride, Uncle Eros had called it. Too much of it was a bad thing and such was the case of one Miss Buffy Summers.
He’d seen the pain in her eyes earlier when she spoke of not believing in love for herself. It’d pained him to see it. His aunt and uncle had always told him that there was a lid for every pot. Sometimes, they’d warned him, it was hard work and not all peaches and cream, but that working through those rough times made it all the more worth it in the long run. Spike had a feeling that Buffy had had her share of the hard work, and never reaped any of the benefits of that hard work. He wanted to know what had happened to make her so jaded and make it better. Most of all, he wanted to give her those benefits. She didn’t think he could make it better, but he knew with a little time and patience he could do it. He’d heard what his uncle and aunt had gone through with Aphrodite. If they could weather her, Spike could weather Buffy.
Then she was there, standing in the doorway, staring at him.
“Hi, pet,” he grinned at her, halting his pacing.
“So, has it been driving you crazy to wait?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Was that the plan?”
“To drive you crazy?”
“Yes.”
“Of course. You’ve been driving me crazy all day. Tit for Tat.”
He grinned. “How are you?”
“I’m tired. You?”
“Fine. Buffy, did you eat today at all?”
“What are you my mother now?”
“I think you need to eat.”
She waved him off and went back into her office. “I’m fine,” and she started to close the door.
Spike shimmied in the tiny crack in the door before the door shut, and ignored the heavy sigh of annoyance she let out.
He looked around her office. It was kind of bare. The only photo she had on her desk was one of an older couple he assumed were her parents. He picked up the picture and noted how she resembled them both in some way.
“I’d love to see you as a little girl,” he murmured.
“What?” she asked surprised.
He looked up at her, setting the photo down. “I bet you were cute.”
She furrowed her brow. “What are you on about now William?”
“Spike,” he corrected.
“Does it bother you when I call you William?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I prefer Spike.”
“You know what bothers me?”
“What?”
“When you don’t follow my directions and back off when I ask you to.”
He sat down on the chair across her desk. “Tit for tat, remember?”
“Not even close to being even remotely the same thing.”
He shrugged. “Fine then. Call me William. Your parents still together?”
“Yes.”
“Happily?”
“This is one of those times where you need to learn boundaries,” she said on a sigh and dropped in her chair fixing him with a warning look. “What are you gonna do? Correlate how I am with how my parents are. Reference my mother’s inability to communicate properly all the time as my issue that I’ve had since childhood? Maybe I should talk about Amy, the girl who used to bully me in elementary school. My inner child can come out and heal those wounds.”
“Buffy, I want us to be friends.”
“We’re employer and employee. That’s it.”
“You and Cordelia were friends.”
She pursed her lips. “Not really. In order to really be friends, the other person has to like you.” Closing her eyes briefly she rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers and yawned.
Spike stood up quietly and made his way around to the back of her chair. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders and she jumped.
“Just relax Buffy.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, every muscle tensing.
“Giving you a massage. You’re all bunched up.”
“Can’t imagine why,” she muttered.
“When was the last time you had anyone take care of you?”
“I don’t know. Why? You signing up for the job?” she joked half-heartedly.
“Yes, actually I am.”
She leaned forward so that his hands no longer touched her. “What?”
“I want to cook you dinner,” he said matter-of-factly.
“What? Why?”
“Because I want to take care of you tonight. I caused you a lot of stress today and I think with some dinner and conversation, we could understand each other better. Even become friends.”
She was silent for so long and just staring straight ahead of her that Spike hoped he hadn’t taken things too far. He seemed all about crossing lines. What if this line was crossed so much there was no coming back from it?
Finally, she broke the silence and surprised them both. “Okay.”
After closing up shop for the day, Buffy and Spike stopped by the local grocery store to get some food. Spike was pretty sure he knew how to cook. His father, a mortal before meeting his mother, had still kept many of his human ways and taught Spike a great deal about how to live as a mortal. Cooking was among those things he’d been taught and right now as he led Buffy to his apartment, he was glad for it. He’d gotten a couple steaks, some salad fixings, a couple potatoes and a bottle of wine. He hadn’t checked to see if his fridge had been stocked before he left that day, so he figured a little more couldn’t hurt. He silently thanked his uncle for the money he’d left in his pocket and hoped that he’d leave more for him at least until he got paid.
He kept a close eye on Buffy, concerned at how quiet she was. She looked, in a word, defeated. He hoped he didn’t have anything to do with it.
“You all right my lioness?” he asked lightly, resisting the urge to reach out and move the hair away from her face as to see her face better.
She nodded. “Just tired and hungry.”
“We’re here,” he announced leading her up to his place.
Stepping inside, she whistled low. “Nice place.”
“Thanks,” he grinned, leading her to the kitchen.
“What did you do before?”
He stared at her, “What do you mean?”
“For a job?”
“Oh, uh, I worked for a big company.”
“What kind of company?”
“Would you like some wine?”
“Please.”
“So, how do you like your steaks, kitten?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Cooked.”
He smirked. “No kidding really?”
“I don’t cook.”
He smiled. “I’ll teach you.”
“I’ll ruin the meal.”
“No you won’t.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” she muttered.
“I don’t. I think you underestimate you,” he told her honestly.
“Spike,” Buffy said, sighing heavily. “Can we save the psychoanalyzing for another time?”
“Sure pet. Thank you. ”
She knit her brows together. “For?”
“For calling me Spike.”